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village,” another added.
    The bandits surrounded the monk with their horses, and their leader told Sonam Gyalpo to dismount. He threw his leg over the saddle horn and jumped to the ground. They waited for Sonam Gyalpo’s next move, maybe a demand for money, or perhaps just yanking the monk’s satchel. The monk turned a soft gaze toward Sonam Gyalpo and, as a wave of benediction washed over him, Sonam Gyalpo fell to the pilgrim’s dusty boots.
    “Oh, lama, bless me with your grace.”
    When the monk lifted his staff above the head of Sonam Gyalpo, two of the bandits drew their swords. He turned his meditative gaze toward the bandits and arrested their thoughts and froze their hands. The monk then grazed the top of Sonam Gyalpo’s head with his staff and said:
    O sublime and precious bodhichitta,
    May it arise in those in whom it has not arisen;
    May it never decline where it has arisen
    But go on increasing, further and further!
    When Sonam Gyalpo stood up, the monk looked at him and said, “May you gain victory over all adverse conditions and obstacles to bring happiness and love to others.”
    The monk’s prayer of bodhichitta —to attain complete awakening for the benefit of others—pierced Sonam Gyalpo’s heart and held back the other bandits from doing anything that might cause harm. Clutching his walking staff, protected by his power of bodhichitta, the old monk passed through the bandits’ enclosure and hobbled into the distance.
    The following morning, the group of bandits milled around the general store in Tromge village. A few inspected the gunpowder, yak-hair ropes and harnesses, and Chinese copper cooking pots that hung outside on wood panels, while others tossed their lariats at fence posts. One of the bandits challenged another to a knife-throwing match. The first launched his buck knife blade over handle, hitting a wooden post dead center. The next threw his knife but missed the target. The large blade flew past the post and sliced open the belly of a pregnant mare standing by the hay bales. Sonam Gyalpo ran with others to the injured horse, to find her unborn foal hanging out of her abdomen. Trying to nuzzle and lick her dead foal back to life, the mare strained her neck. As she looked up to the staring eyes of the bandit who threw the knife, the mare’s head fell to the ground and she died.
    This is what it means to act selflessly—trying to help another even while dying yourself, Sonam Gyalpo thought as tears welled in his eyes.
    Sonam Gyalpo’s days as a bandit were finished. He galloped away and for the next week meandered south to Shiwa, camping along riverbanks. While sitting under the moonlight, Sogyal prayed for those he had harmed. Intense regret for recent deeds pervaded his heart. He vowed to learn methods to cleanse himself of past negative acts and continually give rise to compassion. He thought deeply about how the mare had tended to her lifeless foal even while dying herself, and arrived at a deep conviction that the only reason to live is to help others. It was as Nyala Pema Dündul had once written: “If you can pay meticulous attention to your actions and their effects, adopting virtue and abandoning non-virtue, that is a sign of finding the swift path that ascends the staircase to liberation.”
    Dargye could not believe his eyes when he saw his son riding back to their home. He had been away less than two months. At supper, Sonam Gyalpo told his parents that he wanted to go and live with Nyala Pema Dündul.
    “You stupid boy! You don’t know anything. With that lama, you’ll find nothing but grass and turnips!”
    Dargye scolded his son and said that the next day he must go to hunt for dinner. Dargye was firm that Sonam Gyalpo must not visit Pema Dündul.
    Sonam Gyalpo departed early the next morning and headed up the mountain as ordered by his father. Before he left, Drolma gave him yogurt to take for lunch. She patted him good-bye, hoping her boy would return